


Wanting

by ladydragon76



Series: Wanting [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Ratchet's not falling for a pretty smile and sext aft.  No.  Nope, he's totally not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** Wanting  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairings:** Ratchet/Hotrod  
>  **Warnings:** Angst, Sticky Smut, Questionable Consent  
>  **Notes:** SO late on this, but I hope the OP is still out there and is entertained by the results. Special thanks to masqueadrift for letting me borrow her OC medic’s name. This is a tfanonkink request fill. The request can be found [here](http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/7561.html?thread=7408777#t7408777).

Ratchet watched as the shuttle’s ramp lowered and the visitors from Cybertron disembarked. Optimus stepped forward, reaching out to clasp Ultra Magnus’ arm in greeting.

Ratchet had seen the list and their files. He would be doing an overhaul on all of them while they were on Earth. Supplies on Cybertron were limited, but with help from the science team and some innovations thanks to plucking at some of the humans’ better ideas, Ratchet was pretty sure he could get everyone back in top condition. Good energon would go a long way toward that end as well. Megatron supplied the Decepticons, but the Autobots rarely got the chance to get through the space bridge, and never with more energon than they could carry in their subspaces.

Ratchet continued to give each new mech a thorough look, resisting the urge to run scans before they’d even truly set foot on Earth. His optic was caught by the last mech out, and he nearly snorted.

Did they plan that?

Ratchet couldn’t help but watch him. Hot Rod, he recalled from the file. The mech all but swaggered down the ramp, pretty face open, bright, rich blue optics looking everywhere as his helm swiveled this way and that.

 _He’s a fragging kid, Ratchet._ he thought, suppressing a snort of self-derision.

Frag though. He was Ratchet’s type all over. Bright colors -despite the signs of malnourishment- confident, looked at home in his frame, damn pretty face.

Ratchet sighed, then glanced down as he was elbowed.

Jazz beamed, tipped his helm subtly toward Hot Rod, murmuring, “Think his name’s apt?”

“Grow up.”

“Never.”

Ratchet huffed, shook his helm, and muttered, “I’m going to get the medbay set up. Try to behave a little.” Jazz snickered, but Ratchet had already turned away. He did _not_ need Jazz playing matchmaker. That _never_ worked out.

~

Hot Rod couldn’t stop looking at… _everything_! He’d never been to another planet before, and this one was _so_ different from Cybertron! His optics were caught by all the mechs waiting for them too. They were all so bright and shiny and just… _powerful_ looking! Hot Rod felt his interface systems spin up.

_Yeah. Great first impression there, Roddy._

Hot Rod cycled his vents, glad his own team was ignoring him. He really didn’t need the jokes to start so soon. He had an actual chance here. Maybe, if he was really careful, he could make an actual friend before they all found out what a loser he really was.

Optics scanning the crowd of the Prime’s crew, Hot Rod’s attention was caught and held by gleaming white. The mech practically glowed in the bright light of the sun. He’d read that Cybertron used to have one. He wondered if it had been _this_ bright?

 _Oh, hey wait!_ Hot Rod tipped his helm a little, noticing the red medic’s insignia’s on the mech’s shoulders. That must be Ratchet! Primus! The red hands and red hips drew the optic almost as much as all that white. _Like, look here! I’m good with these!_

Hot Rod bit back a chuckle, glancing at his own team to be sure no one had heard the quickly suppressed sound. Hot doctor for a Hot Rod!

Yeah. Right. Like anyone as awesome as Ratchet would ever want Hot Rod, but it’d be a nice fantasy. Unfortunately, while his attention had been elsewhere, Ratchet had turned and was walking back into the base. Well, sort of unfortunate. Hot Rod got to admire the slight swing of the mech’s hips as he left.

Hot Rod gasped in surprise as he was cuffed upside his helm.

“What is wrong with you?” Springer hissed.

Hot Rod’s face heated, but he brought his vents under control again. Then they were all walking into the _Ark_ , and Hot Rod was left to himself again.

~ | ~

Ratchet was a professional, he reminded himself. Thus, when it was Hot Rod’s turn for a systems’ flush, he ignored all those sharp, clean lines. It wasn’t that tough really. The kid hadn’t shut up yet, which made for a great distraction from his libido. Which shouldn’t be so damn interested in a kid that would be leaving for Cybertron in less than two months.

“I’ve never had a full systems’ flush before. Will it hurt? What all exactly are you flushing?” Hot Rod’s optics went wide and round as Ratchet started the coolant pump. “Whoa!”

“Yeah, it’s a little cold at first.”

Hot Rod snickered. “Well, it _is_ coolant.”

Ratchet frowned at the thick, off-color sludge that drained out of Hot Rod’s lines. “This coolant first, then we’ll hit all your joint lubricants. I’ll check, but the past few days of enriched energon was probably enough to clean your lines. You’re not old enough to have built up too much gunk in them.”

“Gunk,” Hot Rod grinned. “That one of those sophisticated medical terms there?”

Ratchet huffed a slight laugh, glancing up from the datapad. That was probably a mistake. Hot Rod wore a winning smile, optics that deep, rich blue that just _glowed_.

Ratchet’s spark tripped.

Slaggit!

Snorting and shaking his helm, Ratchet forced his focus back to the datapad. He was his type all right. All confidence, and entitled sex, and promising smiles that wouldn’t last past his overload. Better to just ignore it. Hot Rod would be gone in the blink of an optic. Ratchet wasn’t letting him leave with a piece of him to brag about.

~ | ~

Hot Rod stepped into the sparring room only to be practically blown back out the door by the roar of the crowd. He pushed forward curiously, trying to see past everyone to what was happening.

“Hey there, Roddy!” Jazz said, and yanked Hot Rod forward, clearing space just by being him.

Hot Rod wasn’t sure what to do with the entire Autobot forces’ third in command hauling him through the gathered mechs like they were old friends so he settled on accepting it, because Jazz did seem nice. “Hi, Jazz,” he said belatedly, but just got a happy grin flashed at him.

“Ya’re gonna love this. Check it out!”

Hot Rod was tugged sideways, and was finally able to see the sparring floor. His optics went wide. “Wait. Ratchet can fight?”

Jazz chuckled. “Pit yeah, my mech. He kicks plenty o’ ‘Con aft all by himself.”

Hot Rod watched, optics wide as Ratchet twisted, darted, and danced around Prowl, who was no slouch either. Hot Rod looked around and spotted their team medic, then turned back to Ratchet. He seriously doubted Codeblue would last ten nanokliks against Ratchet. Or Prowl.

Frag, this was _hot_!

Hot Rod’s vents kicked up, but it was thankfully really loud in the room, and no one seemed to notice. Primus! Too bad Ratchet was so out of his league.

~ | ~

Ratchet was in the washracks. He had thought he was alone, but suddenly there were hands on him. He glanced down, frowning at those orange hands.

“Hot Rod.”

There was a purr, then warm lips on the back of Ratchet’s neck. Those hands took over washing Ratchet, and he found it impossible to resist. Protests died only half-formed in his vocalizer. When his feet were nudged apart, he allowed it, pushing his aft back against the hot pelvic plating behind him.

Ratchet’s hands slapped the wall hard, gasping out a sharp cry as a thick spike shoved into him. Soft, filthy words were growled into his audial. He felt the humiliation keenly even as the charge crested and left him sobbing into the cool tile of the wall.

Hot Rod left him with a smart slap to his aft, and Ratchet-

-Woke sticky, face damp, all alone in his quarters, which was somehow only a little better than the dream itself.

 _I am way too old for this_. Ratchet got up to clean himself up. It was too early, but screw it. He could at least be some use in his medbay.

~ | ~

“Hey there, Ratch. Where ya been hiding?”

Ratchet looked up as Jazz flopped into the chair across the table from him. “You can take that grin right off your face.”

Jazz’s lower lip poked out in a pout. “I’m hurt, Ratch. Ya know how fond I am of ya. I can’t help smilin’.”

Ratchet’s optic ridge arched, and he just stared at Jazz until the saboteur heaved a sigh, and leaned forward on his elbows.

“Fine. Fine. Ya got me. Though I am fond of ya.”

“Yes. I feel the love. What do you want? And no, before you ask, I am not supplying you any of the nutrient packs for your high grade brewing. Prowl made a nuisance of himself to punish me the last time, and I am in no mood to go through that again.”

Jazz chuckled. “Nah. I wouldn’t put ya through that again. I’ll just thieve what I need next time.” Half of his visor dimmed as he winked.

Ratchet huffed a slight laugh and shook his helm. “And I never heard that.”

Jazz flicked two fingers out from his helm in a mock salute, then leaned forward even more. “So, I notice ya got yourself a bit of an admirer.”

Ratchet’s mouth pressed into a tight line. Those, ok they weren’t exactly nightmares, but they’d been plaguing him for weeks now, and Hot Rod’s ‘subtle’ attention was only making things worse. Even worse than that was that Ratchet really did return the interest. Hot Rod’s shy act was hitting buttons Ratchet had forgotten were even there.

“He’s a sweet kid, ya know?”

“Exactly. He’s a kid. I’ve had him in the medbay. He’s barely past maturity.”

“Had him in the medbay, huh?” Jazz snickered, and held up a hand in surrender when Ratchet growled at him. “Sorry. I had the shot, there was no danger to me or my men-“

“Jazz.”

“Ok, ok. But why not? He likes ya.”

Ratchet shook his helm. Why not? He didn’t want yet another one-night stand. He didn’t want a reputation he’d earned way back in the academy to haunt him still. It’d been ages! Why was it that other mechs were just ‘sowing their oats’ as the humans said, but with him he was forever branded as the easy ‘face. Pits! He’d even been used here on Earth. Thanked and left like he was nothing more than a pleasure drone.

“No.”

“Ratch,” Jazz started, voice softening. He knew. He _knew_ why Ratchet wouldn’t just ‘face Hot Rod.

“Forget it, Jazz.” Ratchet stood, and left the Rec Room, spark tripping as he accidentally caught Hot Rod’s optics. He hurried away. It was just a stupid crush, and it’d die when he didn’t have all that… _pretty_ staring him in the face constantly.

~ | ~

“You two are just the worst,” Tracks said. “When are you just going to ‘face him, Ratchet, and get it out of your systems?”

Hot Rod turned from the energon dispenser, frowning in confusion.

“He watches you walk,” Tracks said, loud enough that everyone in the Rec Room was paying attention now. “Don’t you, Ratchet?”

Hot Rod shook his helm. There was absolutely no reason for Ratchet to be interested in Hot Rod. Ratchet was older, not all that old, really. Ultra Magnus was older, he thought. He wouldn’t be interested in a stupid kid though. He was too mature for that.

Ratchet snorted. “Stop trying to cause trouble, Tracks.”

“Oh puleeeze!” Tracks said, dragging the word out. “Everyone’s seen the way you two stare at each other when the other’s not looking. We’re sick of watching you dance around one another. Just do something already!”

Ratchet shook his helm, and went back to his datapad, sipping his energon.

Hot Rod felt his face heat as Tracks pinned him with a look. “Not that he has any right to be, but apparently Ratchet’s playing shy. I’m afraid it’ll be up to you to make the first move, Hot Rod.”

“Tracks!” Jazz snapped. “If ya can’t be polite and civil, ya’ll be escorted out. I’m sure I can come up with somethin’ for ya ta do elsewhere.”

Tracks sniffed, stuck his nose in the air, and pushed past Hot Rod to get his own energon.

Hot Rod quickly drained his cube, then beat a hasty retreat. Ratchet wasn’t interested. Why would he be? Hot Rod’s own team barely tolerated him. There was no way that Tracks was right. There was no slagging way at all that someone like Ratchet would even waste his time using Hot Rod’s body for a quick overload.

He really needed to stop staring though. Mechs were noticing, and he didn’t want Ratchet mad at him.

~ | ~

Ratchet could have slapped Jazz. What was the slagger thinking coming to check on him after the thing with Tracks? He wasn’t so fragging delicate. Primus in the Smelters, he was anything but delicate! Being called out over a crush that he was able to cover up for was nothing. He sure hadn’t needed a white and black knight to charge in. That only made him _look_ as guilty as he was.

Slaggit!

 _Then_ the glitched out Cupid had tried to get Ratchet to ‘just talk’ to Hot Rod. Well Ratchet didn’t _want_ to talk to him! He didn’t want to like the mech more than he already did! They would be leaving in two weeks!

Or they would have been.

The Decepticons showing up to wreak havoc had changed all that. The shuttle had been badly damaged, and so had a number of Autobots. The shuttle could sit and smolder for all Ratchet cared as he rushed from patient to patient. Having Codeblue around was nice. The mech was a capable medic, intelligent, and willing to defer to Ratchet’s orders. He also didn’t shrink from a sharp word, and completely backed up Ratchet’s threats of reformatting when Springer wouldn’t sit the frag still.

Worst of all was Hot Rod. He’d dove right into the fray with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, but lacked their coordinated attacks, experience with these particular Decepticons, and quite frankly, their skill.

Ratchet would have loved to curse and rail at the mech, but Hot Rod laid still, those usually bright optics dim and unfocused, and Ratchet just didn’t have the spark.

As Ratchet worked, he noticed himself slowing now and then, hand lingering just a little too long on an undamaged spot. _The frag is wrong with you?! He’s a patient!_

Ratchet shook himself out of it, attention divided for a time as the less injured were finally tended, and sent out for energon and rest. Perceptor nodded as he cleaned his hands up, babbling out his report and offering Ratchet help with Hot Rod.

“No, thank you. I’m almost done here.”

Perceptor placed a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder and leaned over to smile at him. “And he is in the best hands.”

“Yep,” Hot Rod rasped, smiling a little back.

Ratchet growled as his spark fluttered, and covered it, by leaning down and pretending that a bit of wire was giving him trouble. “There,” he said, and moved down from Hot Rod’s side to his hip.

It was fine at first, but as he worked and the medbay emptied, the heat from the direction of Hot Rod’s panel increased. It was difficult for Ratchet to stay focused as he fussed with the inner workings of Hot Rod’s hip.

It would be so easy. Hot Rod obviously wanted it. Ratchet’s face was so close too. His hands were _right there_. They could act out any of a dozen fantasies before anyone even thought to come back and harangue Ratchet for not giving himself a break and energon too.

Ratchet snapped a connection into place, the backs of his fingers brushing Hot Rod’s interface panel. They both froze. Had the panel locks clicked too?

Primus! No! What was he _thinking_?! Hot Rod was his patient. He shouldn’t even consider such things!

Ratchet finished up, pushing cables back where they belonged, resetting the sensor nodes in that area of Hot Rod’s leg. He pressed the armor shut, and took a quick step back from the table, and heat, and far too attractive mech watching him with dark sapphire optics and vents running high.

“No running. Try to stay off your feet as much as possible tonight.” Ratchet winced. _Please let it just be me that is hearing innuendo in every word_.

“I will.” Hot Rod’s voice was soft and husky, a gentle tenor that rang with arousal.

“Nothing strenuous for a few days.”

“Ok.”

Fragging Primus! “You can go now.”

Hot Rod sat up, cautious of the repairs as he slid off the med berth. “Not yet.”

Ratchet’s helm whipped around. Really bad idea. Hot Rod was right there, lips parted, face too close.

“Haven’t said thank you.”

Ratchet felt like his was falling forward, but Hot Rod’s mouth was that direction. He jerked himself back, startling Hot Rod into flinching. “You’re welcome,” he bit out, turned, and fled. Chased from his medbay for the first time ever.

What was wrong with him?

~ | ~

Hot Rod had been rather stung when Ratchet just took off. For a second it’d seemed like they would kiss. Slag! The memory alone lit up his systems and kicks his vents over to a higher gear, and it’d been a few days!

Then again, they’d been on Earth almost two local ‘months’, and Hot Rod still had it pretty bad. He really didn’t know what to do. The shuttle was all busted up, so they wouldn’t be leaving for a while now. Hot Rod actually rather liked Earth. That whole ‘speed limit’ thing sucked slag, but he got a kick out of _water_ falling out of the sky, and the warm, bright Sun was nice.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker- Ok mostly just Sideswipe, was being cooler to him too since the battle. He was almost making friends, but he didn’t think he could talk to them about this whole Ratchet thing. Mechs were still snickering behind their hands, the polite ones anyways, at him. Hot Rod wasn’t, like, subtle.

Well. There was only one mech Hot Rod could think of that might help him. And if not, oh well. What was one more mech laughing at him?

Hot Rod opened his comms and asked Jazz if he had a few kliks.

~ | ~

Ratchet stopped halfway into his quarters. “What-?! How did you-”

Hot Rod smiled from his berth, holding out a cube of what sure looked like high grade. Jazz’s fancy, get-you-cratered-without-noticing brew.

Ratchet growled. “I’m going to kill Jazz.” Hot Rod snickered. “Are you even old enough to drink that?” he asked, noting the soft, classical Cybertronian music playing. Yup. Frelling _Jazz_! “Bumblebee is older than you, and I’m not even counting the vorns we spent in stasis.”

Hot Rod stood, approaching with the high grade held out in front of him. Shield or offering to an angry demon? Ratchet _was_ angry. Jazz and his damn meddling!

“I’m fully mature, and you know it.”

Ratchet bit back the retort that Hot Rod didn’t act it. No one acted it around here, so that was rather unfair. Plus Hot Rod was young. Too young. Ratchet should not be considering this.

He took the high grade and downed it in one long pull.

“I’m not that bad, am I?” Hot Rod asked, a wry tone to his voice.

“No.” Ratchet reached for Hot Rod. If he was going to do this, then he was going to do it all the way and make the regret and spark ache later worth it. “Just… I hear you bragging, I find out you have, and I _will_ reconfigure you into Cassetticon and personally hand you to Soundwave. Got it?”

“Why would-“

Ratchet didn’t let him finish with the question, knowing what Hot Rod would ask, and knowing it was just a platitude. It always was.

The kiss shot a bolt of lightning right down his spinal struts. It must have done something good for Hot Rod too, because he moaned outright, free hand clutching at Ratchet’s waist. Ratchet let himself drown in it for a few minutes, then pulled back. His vents were cycling hard, and he could feel how the lubricant seeped from his valve, hot behind his panel.

Hot Rod’s optics were half-lidded pools of cobalt, lips parted. Ratchet took the cube away from him before it spilled, then applied pressure to his chest so he’d move back to the berth.

Ratchet sat on the edge, then twisted to lie back. Hot Rod followed without prompting, leaning over at first to capture Ratchet’s mouth in another kiss, then shifting to straddle Ratchet’s thighs. Unusual, but fine. Ratchet had decided to just go ahead and surrender to this, so that’s what he was going to do.

Hot Rod moaned softly, and Ratchet let his hands roam. Bright, shining, healthy plating, hot body with solid weight pressing him into the berth. Hot Rod even smelled clean and crisp, his armor loose, the gaps wide enough for Ratchet to easily slide his fingers in to play over cables and nodes and sensitive inner workings. He loved touching. Some called it medic’s hands, but it wasn’t the sensors -though those could be fun. It was tactile. Getting to touch, and knowing that this wire connected to a node cluster that referred right across the expanse of Hot Rod’s chest.

Hot Rod’s back curved, helm lifting on a cry. His pelvis ground down against Ratchet’s, rocketing lust and heat over Ratchet’s sensornet. Panels sprang open, almost together, but it was Ratchet that was surprised.

Hot Rod lifted a little, looking between them, one hand moving eagerly. He smiled back up at Ratchet while tracing around his spike housing. “Tease me next time. I need you bad right now.”

He wanted spiked? Well, all right. That wasn’t how Ratchet was used to this going, but he sure wasn’t going to complain. He _liked_ using his spike. He let it extend wordlessly, then felt his face heat when Hot Rod gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“Nice.”

Then he was up and on, sinking down until Ratchet was hilted in his tight, wet valve. Hot Rod panted, hands braced against Ratchet’s chest. His hips scribed small, grinding circles. Those incredible optics were shut, mouth open in a perfect little ‘O’ as he rocked. He barely moved, keeping his weight pressed down. Ratchet gripped his hips, but those maddening little circles stole away everything but pleasure.

Light ripples grew to a rhythmic wave, Hot Rod’s soft cries getting louder, then a hard squeeze, and sharp, short scream. Hot Rod fell forward, pelvis pushing, mouth open and hot against Ratchet’s shoulder as he sobbed through his release.

Ratchet just… stared at the ceiling. Was this a punishment? Primus, he was fairly close, but not that close. Of course he _could_ just flip them over and drive on until he got his.

Hot Rod whimpered, fingers scratching at Ratchet’s chest. “No… No, please! Please don’t stop. Please!”

Ratchet turned his helm, and Hot Rod’s mouth covered his own, tongue thrusting in, hips rocking again as he whimpered in short little gasps. Well, ok. That was really pretty hot there actually. Ratchet grabbed his hips with a tighter grip and began to push and pull, thrusting up into the new, hard rhythm.

Hot Rod pushed himself back up. There were no slow little circles this time. He bounced hard, following Ratchet’s guidance. He was still completely abandoned to his own pleasure, but slagging Pits, it was a great show.

Pressure built at the base of Ratchet’s spike, need and desire knotting low in his belly. Hot Rod babbled desperate words, fingers clawing against Ratchet. Ecstasy exploded outward, washing in a rapturous burn across his sensornet. Hot Rod arched and screamed again, drowning out Ratchet’s low moan.

This time when Hot Rod collapsed forward, he let himself slide to the side, and curled up against Ratchet. One leg was still draped heavy over Ratchet’s own, but he sighed, and squeezed Hot Rod close. That’d been pretty damn good, and he rather liked cuddling when he got the chance.

Hot Rod’s systems quieted quickly, respiration deep as he sank into recharge. Ratchet resisted the pull, wanting to just… pretend a little longer. Why was it he couldn’t ever seem to have this for more than one night? It was nice. Hot Rod was warm, and his weight was comfortable against Ratchet’s side. He purred randomly and softly in his recharge, murmuring into Ratchet’s neck cables, his fingers curled around the edge of an armor plate as if he really didn’t want to let go.

It was incredibly depressing to think he’d wake alone, that he wouldn’t wake to this.

Ratchet sighed, and gave up, letting recharge take him. At least if he wasn’t awake, he couldn’t embarrass himself by asking Hot Rod to stay. That always sucked slag.

~ | ~

Ratchet woke alone, as predicted. He sighed as he sat up. The berth was still vaguely warm where Hot Rod had been.

He huffed, scrubbing his face with his hands. It was stupid to be upset over something he _knew_ was going to happen and still allowed. He was too old to be so foolish. If he was really lucky, Hot Rod would be somewhat decent, and not blab to everyone that he’d gotten a piece of the easiest medic in the galaxy.

Ratchet jumped as the door opened. He stared, optics wide as Hot Rod entered, smiling brightly and carrying energon.

“Morning!” Hot Rod plopped his aft on the berth beside Ratchet, and held out a cube. “I tried to hurry so I’d be back before you woke, but the Rec Room was pretty busy.” He leaned over and kissed Ratchet’s cheek, purring softly.

Ratchet blinked, but took the cube. Well, all right. He’d managed to pick one of the rare ones that had manners. He’d noted before that Hot Rod seemed sweet enough. It was nice to at least get some courtesy. “Thank you,” he said, a little belated, but he offered a slight smile with it.

“Last night was pretty awesome,” Hot Rod said, drinking his energon in gulps between happy smiles.

 _Here it comes,_ Ratchet thought, bracing for the ‘thanks for that, bye!’.

“Most mechs don’t like me much.”

 _Wait. What?_ That wasn’t the usual script.

Hot Rod’s optics dropped to his cube as he swirled the last of the energon around. “I’m younger than a lot of them, so I guess I annoy them. A lot. I was really hoping that some of you Earth mechs would like me. Jazz has been cool.”

Ratchet felt a flare of jealousy. Jazz wouldn’t do that though, would he? ‘Face a mech, then encourage him to bed Ratchet? Jazz was a wild one, but he had more class than to do that to a friend. Right?

“He’s been encouraging me from just about the beginning to tell you, but I didn’t really believe that you’d want me. Not until the whole medbay almost kiss thing.” Hot Rod shrugged one shoulder. “The twins are cool too since I got slagged, but they keep teasing me pretty bad about wanting you. In fact, most everyone does, but I don’t get it. I mean, I know you’re older than a bunch of them, but you’re hot. And you can move. And you’re… idunno… you care about everyone, and you’re really smart too.”

Hot Rod glanced up, and Ratchet caught the bright pink of his face. He felt his spark flip again, and tilted his helm.

Hot Rod dropped his gaze again. “Anyways, I know how things go, but I really like you, so I hope last night isn’t the only time you put up with me.”

Ratchet was struck dumb with shock. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He stared, watching as Hot Rod fidgeted, becoming more and more agitated the longer the silence stretched on. He didn’t mean to be cruel, he just didn’t know what to say. Was this kid for real?

“Please say something?” Hot Rod whispered.

It was the pain in his voice that made Ratchet reach out to him, wrap an arm around his shoulders, and sigh. “Back when I was in the academy, I was really wild.”

Hot Rod chuckled, tipping his helm just a little to give Ratchet a side-long grin. “I’d heard. Still got it.” His blush darkened. “Got me off pretty damn hard.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “No. I mean. I had this reputation as just a good time. No one really sticks around. I-“ He cut himself off. Primus it sounded even more pathetic out loud. “I’ve been mistreated pretty badly I the past, and even used here on Earth. I shouldn’t have allowed it, but-“

Hot Rod leaned in and kissed him, cutting Ratchet off rather affectively. It was warm and sweet, and slow, and when he pulled back, his optics dropped away again. “So, am I hearing this wrong? You know. Like stupid wishful thinking, or are you saying you’d actually like something that’d last a bit?”

Ratchet frowned. If this was a game, it was a damn cruel one, and he was definitely not going to stop himself from doing damage. Codeblue could fix him. “I’d like a fair chance at something real rather than just being a cheap fuck.”

Hot Rod’s head shot up, optics wide. Ratchet arched an optic ridge to cover the urge to smirk. Human curse words held so much impact for the mechs not used to hearing them muttered by a frustrated Sparkplug. “You _are not_ a… a…”

Ratchet couldn’t help chuckling a little. Hot Rod flustered like that was pretty cute. Damn it. He really liked him.

Hot Rod huffed, then laughed a little himself. “I’d like a chance at something real too. I like you, you know? I like Earth. I’d even stay here. Jazz said you didn’t want to get involved just to get left, but I’d stay if you wanted me to.”

Ratchet heaved a sigh, and leaned back on his hands. “Primus. We’re a train wreck waiting to happen.” They _both_ wanted more, and that was almost as bad as being used. Ratchet didn’t want to be in love with being in love. He wanted one special mech that would be his partner. _Really_ be his partner, not just clinging to him, and him clinging back so they wouldn’t be alone again.

“Train wreck?” Hot Rod shook his helm. “No. I mean, I think if we both want to try it, then we should, right? The whole idea is to be happy, isn’t it? So if we’re not happy together, then we just stop.”

Ratchet looked at Hot Rod’s earnest, open face, and thought, _Oh boy. He’s serious, and that naive_. “Sometimes, it doesn’t happen that way.”

Hot Rod shrugged, twisting to lean in a bit against Ratchet. “You said you wanted a chance at something real. Don’t… what’s the organic? That’s always scared?”

Ratchet bit back a laugh. “Chicken? You’re calling me chicken?”

“Yeah!” Hot Rod said, then quickly shook his helm. “No, no! I mean, yes chicken is what I was trying to remember, but no, I don’t think you are, so you’re not going to be like a chicken about us.” He positively beamed, then asked in a sly tone, “Or are you?”

Ratchet did laugh then. “Think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“I’m adorable.”

Ratchet sprawled back on his berth. “Primus. You’re going to be a handful.”

Hot Rod tossed a leg over Ratchet’s waist, purring as he pressed their chest plates together and stole a kiss. “That a yes?”

Ratchet grinned, shook his helm, then nodded. “Ok. Yes.”

Hot Rod’s response was immediate, exuberant, and Ratchet was pretty sure it blew out a few of his relays. Afterward, however, he got that warm frame snuggled back into his side, purring happily, and winding him right back up with whispered promises of all the other ways they could enjoy their new relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> [Cupid Strikes by LB82](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7263394)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cupid Strikes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263394) by [LB82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB82/pseuds/LB82)




End file.
